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Tuesday 29 March 2022

LAMB CHOPS

A month before he died my grandfather

ate lamb chops. Long past the point

at which politeness matters, he picked


up the pieces with his fingers, gnawing

frantically down to the bone, determined 

to get at whatever was left. And as


he lay later in his hospital bed he said

it was the happiest he’d ever been.

If only we could all receive gifts like these –


going to the unknown with only the bones;

no hint of unfinished meat; a life consumed

with gusto, its flavour truly savoured.